


Dust to Dust

by rabbit_of_inle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Armitage Hux Lives, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, grievous lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbit_of_inle/pseuds/rabbit_of_inle
Summary: Armitage Hux has a chance encounter with a remnant of the past.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will be writing Grievous more based on his legends portrayal, not on official canon if that ends up being prominent. Apologies if the ending to this part seems abrupt. I'm still thinking about where to take this for future chapters. 
> 
> Anyways, Hux and Grievous are my two favorites in the SW universe so naturally I wanted to write them interacting in a scenario where they both survived. Also based on some discussions with a friend of mine.

Hux paused atop a sandy hill, one hand on his cane and another held above his eyes: in the distance, there sat the remains of a star destroyer. It looked to be a venator-class-- one of Republic origin from long ago, judging by what he could see of its hull. Hux had done his fair share of reading on old tech when collaborating with engineers on weapons and such for First Order use, and he took quite a personal interest in such things as well.  
The dunes had been stirred by the winds over many years, causing the craft to appear half-drowned in that ash-colored sea. Truly, there was no telling what could be lurking there, but after seeing a group of stormtroopers in the little backwater town he’d taken shelter in during his recovery, Hux decided he would take his chances with the ship. It hurt, fleeing from what had once been the backbone of his existence, but what remained of the regime had seen him die a detestable turncoat on the bridge of the _Steadfast_ — perhaps it ought to remain that way, for his sake.

What would have been an insufferable trek in any other circumstance was made even worse by the still-healing wounds on Hux’s chest and leg. His cane sunk into the sand at every turn, which made it about as useful as a fur coat in the sweltering daytime heat of Jakku. The blaster he carried felt heavier than it ever had, pulling on his hip and exasperating the ache that had already grown from crossing the cumbersome terrain. Eventually, though, he did reach the star destroyer’s dark, decaying husk-- Hux leaned against a shard of debris at the mouth of a massive tear in the ship’s underbelly.  
A strange, stinking wind welled up from the darkness within, ruffling his red hair and pushing at his loose garments. Soft, disembodied creaks and groans echoed in the distance-- it felt like a warning. Hux reached for the blaster and held it stiffly in front of him as he slunk into the shadows.

Every footstep sounded like thunder, every breath like a hurricane as the former general did all he could to keep himself calm. Pairs of reflective eyes watched him curiously from above-- small creatures dangling by their tails that had never seen a live human before, perhaps. Occasionally, one would make a soft trilling noise; Millicent had always done the same thing when awoken from a nap on the foot of his bed. Hux could not contain the forlorn exhale that escaped him.  
As it turned out, he’d been right-- this _was_ an old Republic ship. That had been made clear when he’d tripped over hollowed clone armor, disturbing a nest of insects that scuttled up into the rafters (oh, how he hoped none had fallen in his hair). Not far from it sat a few broken datapads that Hux nudged with his boot; surprisingly enough, one flickered to life. 

“A pity.” Hux said aloud to… well, the bugs and the little vermin hanging upside-down from their tails, he supposed. “It appears to be corrupted.”

Something clattered behind him, causing the datapad to fall from his hand and slide across the floor. He was paralyzed, heart pounding and blaster held high as purple light crackled to life. Two enormous droids stepped forward, horrid faces illuminated by the tips of their electrified staffs which they spun in a threatening display. Hux fired off his weapon, but he was so in shock that his shaking, sweating hands could not properly aim. The bolt grazed one of their shoulders, but did not halt their advance. As if this was not bad enough already, a third assailant clambered atop a pile of wreckage-- this creature was even taller and had a hulking, hunched figure that looked like a nightmare incarnate. Reflective eyes-- _organic_ eyes-- glinted in the purple glow. Before he could process anything else, there was an awful jolt in his hand as one of the droids disarmed him with a nimble strike of its staff. Hux fell onto his rear and edged backwards across the floor, gasping at the pain from his already injured leg.

“Have you any last words before we spill your blood?” A low, rasping tone hissed over the hum of electricity.

“Wait--” Hux blurted out, one hand futilely shielding his pale face. “I am merely a traveler a--”

“A _traveler_.” The creature stammered and coughed-- a deep, painful cough that left him gasping for air. “You walk where you do not belong, fool.” The hulking thing stepped into the light, revealing the most hideous face Hux had ever seen: it looked to be constructed of some armorplast or durasteel, and had the features of a monster. A pair of dull, cataract-ridden eyes oozed foul discharge, the flesh and mask around them covered in grime. About the body was a tattered, blood-stained cloak. Something in Hux’s mind clicked— having spent much of his life surrounded by officers and the like, he’d heard his fair share of tales… read his share of retellings.

“You’re General Grievous.” For that utterance alone, Hux’s tone was as matter-of-fact as it always had been as a general of the First Order. Grievous gave no response, only a subtle tightening of the plates on either side of his head. “I… was told you had died prior to Imperial rule.”

“ _Good_. Let them believe that.” The cyborg slid down the debris pile and positioned himself between the two staff-wielders. Hux noticed he had a limp to his gait-- it was evident that this living legend had started to feel the wear of time and a lack of maintenance. 

“I take it as no coincidence you’ve been silent for this long.” Hux felt fear beginning to replace previous awe as he replied. Grievous continued to stare in his general direction, a cross between a growl and a wheeze bubbling up in his chest. “You know, it is a curious thing we should both meet each other here. I, too, am a former general that the majority of the galaxy believes to be dead.” 

“Curious indeed. And where is it you hail from?” Hux gave a nervous laugh as the cyborg leaned in a bit closer. 

“I… that hardly matters. What does matter is if I’m found, I shall likely be executed for war crimes… or for treachery.” He mumbled that last part, but the cyborg scoffed.

“ _Treachery?_ You lack resolve.” At those words, Hux finally boiled over.

“You hardly know the whole story. They one day sought to undermine me at every turn-- they seem to neglect that I was the one who destroyed the Hosnian system. The New Republic crumbled before me l--”

“You… did what?” That metallic head tipped curiously to one side, and so Hux went on for a good half-hour, bringing the other up to speed on what had happened in the past couple of years. When he was finished, Grievous looked as pensive as a creature like him could manage, and then waved off his two allies.

“Very well, if you are as esteemed as you _claim_ to be, then you should have no problem helping me with a… _favor_.” There was a malevolent playfulness to his words-- a quiet knife held against Hux’s throat. Before he could manage a response, Grievous gestured with his skeletal hand. “Follow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request is made and a bargain is struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like I'm continuing this! Thanks for all the kudos! Still not sure where I ultimately want this to end up, so I'm just kind of crossing one bridge at a time lol.

Despite his worn body and respiratory distress, General Grievous kept up a surprising pace-- one Hux had difficulty matching. He limped along behind the party until Grievous stopped short at a trashed maintenance corridor that still spat sparks of electricity from frayed wires and snapped cables. The ship lay on its side, placing the mouth of the passage directly above them.

“There… is simply no way we can access that.” Hux panted and wiped sweat from his brow. Grievous turned his head, eyes once again reflecting ominously in the wake of the few rays of light that had forced their way through cracks in the rotting hull. There was a moment of awkward, still silence before the former Seperatist general braced himself, then leapt up into the hallway-- he had miscalculated the jump a bit due to his deteriorating sight, but managed to find a hold. Hux observed with both awe and disgust at the way he dug his metallic claws into the walls and braced with powerful talons. “Ah. But of _course._ ”

The climb had been embarrassing, even if the only audience had been Grievous. The two spear-wielding droids had remained below, keeping watch over the entry point while Hux struggled to scale the yawning expanse of the corridor (one certainly did not think about how long star destroyer hallways were until it was necessary to climb an upturned one). His thin arms had quivered the whole way, his still-healing body burning as he struggled to reach the second ledge-- after a time, a cold, unforgiving grasp had taken him by the arm and yanked him up the rest of the way.   
Eventually, the pair emerged from a welcome opening to the dusty, outside air. Hux felt his stomach drop as the reality of how high up they were was revealed: they stood atop the left side of the wrecked venator, looking out over an endless cemetery of abandoned vessels in the ashy sea. He could hear the framework shifting beneath his legs, which now felt as if they had the integrity of the wet noodles they occasionally served as a treat back on the _Finalizer_. 

“Look.” Grievous’s rasping voice interrupted the other’s reminiscing, and a gnarled finger pointed stiffly to something off in the distance. “It is an outpost, presumably belonging to this ‘First Order’ you spoke of.” Hux squinted his eyes against the assaulting light of the sun (which had left an unsightly burn on the back of his neck during his journey here). Atop a dark ridge of rock sat a little, square building— it must have been a newer complex, for Hux had not heard of it during his time as general. “I am in need of medical supplies, but neither myself nor my magnaguards are in any shape to infiltrate the facility.”

“And somehow _I_ appear more fit than _you_?” Hux snapped back, eyes widening. “Did I not tell you I was _avoiding_ what remains of the First Order?”

“You did.” The cyborg turned a cloudy eye in the other’s direction. “You also imparted onto me that they believe you to be dead. They will not be searching for you, and you will be a far more covert infiltrator than I.” He stammered and coughed while Hux stood petrified to the spot.

“I…” he swallowed hard, a familiar feeling of dread creeping into his heart. He had run all this way only to find that he had gone in a hopeless circle. “Such a... _risky_ maneuver on my part will not be unrewarded, I presume?” At that, Grievous moved forward with frightening speed, his filthy faceplate mere inches from Hux’s own pale features.

“Your _reward_ is your life, trespasser.” A fit of wheezing seized his body, crackling with some fluid that had evidently built up in his lungs. “If it is extra incentive you crave, then perhaps I will consider allowing you to linger in the shadows should you happen to _impress_ me.” The foul creature withdrew his visage and stalked in the direction from whence they had come. “You will depart for the outpost tomorrow, as soon as day breaks.” With that, the mysterious former general disappeared back into the darkness of the ship. Hux felt indignation boiling up inside of him-- how _dare_ this beast address him with such disrespect? How _dare_ he order him around like some expendable pawn? _I could slip away quietly_ , Hux thought to himself, _I could leave and never look back_.  
But where would he go?   
His mind whispered of temporary safety-- it could be useful, having such formidable company around. Yes… a favor for a favor; medical supplies for a shelter where none of his former mutts would dare stick their noses. Perhaps things were looking up afterall.

The remainder of that day was spent foraging about the old ship-- the meager supplies Hux had toted with him would not last longer than a few days, and he figured he could collect a few old rations in some of the residential areas.   
When night fell, he made a cautious return to the clearing where Grievous and those wretched spear-wielding ‘magnaguards’ had ambushed him. A bundle of gathered supplies dropped from his freckled arms and clattered loudly to the floor-- the sound echoed over the walls until it was eventually swallowed up by the ominous voids on either side of him. Hux did his best not to think about what other things might be living in this wreck and focused on lighting a fire. Settling down before its amber glow, he pulled some stale crackers from a small bag and ate them pensively until a soft yip drew his attention to the left: a trio of the creatures he’d seen hanging by their tails sat a few feet away.

“Oh, stars-- if you’re wishing to be fed, then you are sorely out of luck.” One of the animals tipped its head to the side, large ears flopping over somewhat. “Is that so?” He addressed it as if it had just told him something terribly urgent (it wasn’t like he had anyone better to talk to).   
They weren’t afraid of people, and took a great liking to his cane, which had been left on the ground where Hux had fallen earlier. The largest one chewed it vigorously, and he yanked it back. “Enough of that!”  
Despite how much of a nuisance they were, Hux played with them until he felt himself growing tired. When his newfound friends had scampered off to cause trouble elsewhere, he settled down with his head on one arm-- the other arm was occupying his blaster, _just in case_ \-- and eventually drifted into a fragile sleep.

Something cold nudged Hux’s bony shoulder. Immediately, he jolted awake and readied his firearm-- Grievous did not flinch.

“It is time.” That voice slithered through the musty air like a serpent, evoking chills even in such a stuffy environment as this. While Hux gathered up a few necessities into the pitifully small bag he’d brought, the cyborg leaned over him in a most distracting fashion. Hux breathed a sigh.

“You still have yet to discuss a strategy. If any officer sees even an inch of my face, I’ll be recognized immediately.” A half-hearted chuckle escaped him. “Perhaps they would think me a ghost.”

“I was under the assumption that you would be familiar with your former faction’s manner of operation, _General Hux_.” The way Grievous had sneered his title made him grit his teeth-- when the old scrap pile had what he wanted, Hux would be sure to find his own, secluded spot in the ship where they would not cross paths often. 

Accompanied by a magnaguard, Hux stepped out from under the shade of the star destroyer and immediately felt the unwelcome shifting of the ash beneath his boot; he did not look forward to another hike in these abominable conditions, particularly with that accursed droid breathing down his neck. On top of that, he still needed to devise a more detailed plan along the way; certainly not out of question, but it was far from ideal.

“ _I was under the assumption that you would be familiar with your former faction’s manner of operation_.” Hux mocked Grievous in a barely-perceivable whisper as he headed towards what felt like his next big mistake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux begins infiltrating the lair of his former allies and learns something most curious. Grievous thinks on the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man it has been a hot minute since I've updated this, but I'm still alive lol. I promise there's more to come, for those who are still interested!

It was a walk even more treacherous than the last. The whole way to the complex was littered with more ship debris than a First Order trash compactor. Hux slit his good leg open on a piece of durasteel that he hadn’t noticed-- he was forced to tear a strip off his shirt and tie it around the wound as blood crested its crevice. When at last the party arrived, Hux had to slump against a large overhang to catch his breath.  
Peering over the side of his shelter, he squinted to get a better look at what they were dealing with: the framework of the building confirmed his suspicions that this had been put together after his fall from grace. Having been so meticulous about the production of blueprints and schedule for construction meant that Hux had a very good memory of when and where he had ordered structures built. It was small and appeared far less sturdy up close-- it had the looks of something new but cheaply-made.

“We must be losing the war.” Hux mumbled, not so much to the two droids behind him as to himself. _We_. As if he were anything more than a body bag now to the Order he’d dedicated his entire existence to.  
The complex was guarded, of course, but a wandering eye spotted an air duct conveniently left ajar. “Wait for me here.” The former general flashed the droids a severe look, but they gave no readable response (the beasts only answered to Grievous, he presumed). With a deep breath, Hux limped as covertly as he could across the rocky ground in order to bring himself closer to the air duct on the side of the base. Troopers walked frequently about the perimeter, heartlessly and efficiently surveying their land and gripping their blasters with a mechanical stiffness-- it was a strange feeling, admiring the products of the Hux family’s own, ruthless design while simultaneously planning to exploit their weaknesses.  
It was a tense waiting game as the trooper guarding that crucial corner ambled about their post, occasionally uttering into their comm or shifting from one leg to the other. Eventually, it paid off-- a change of shift allowed Hux a few vital seconds to dart across the gap and weasel his lithe form carefully into the vent.

***

Grievous sat motionless in the bowels of the crumbling venator, crouched atop a vantage of rubble. In his worn, skeletal fingers he held a lightsaber-- one of the many he had collected during the Clone Wars. Grievous’s eyes were not what they had once been, but even so he could still identify the saber by its grip and detailwork. He remembered how it had come into his possession, for every weapon on his belt had its own unique story-- this particular saber had come from a jedi he had killed in the outer rim.  
The togruta had not been a knight for long, that much was evident by the way she’d countered his blows and just barely moved out of the way of his uppercuts. Grievous had been in his prime, eyes blazing with fury and talons ripping into the ground as he overwhelmed her with raw strength. She had fallen before him, one leg severed and smoking. The moment before the jedi-slayer had plunged his blade into her heart, he’d seen a flicker of something in her face-- a subtle shift of her features that Jedi were not meant to show: _fear_.

These were among the memories Grievous cherished most. Memories of anger, triumph, and even pain. Memories of his homeworld, Kalee-- though the longer he’d lived, the more obscured in a strange fog Kalee had become. In the absence of purpose and of strength, all he had were these far-off memories and nostalgic trinkets to hold onto.  
Most of him did not expect this ‘General Hux’ he’d met to ever return in one piece. More than likely, his droids would arrive empty-handed or dragging a corpse in their wake, but there was a small chance-- provided the pathetic rat was not as incompetant as he appeared-- that Hux would return with the necessary items. Until he did, the cyborg would do as he had done for many years following his reported death: 

_remember_. 

***

Hux learned that he did not care for tightly-enclosed spaces. His hip bones dug into the metallic flooring of the duct as he snaked as quietly as he could along its length-- it seemed to continue on for miles and miles, and it was dark as night. Hux could feel his arms shaking and sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he heaved himself further along. Rounding a corner, a promising ray of light projected up from a grate several feet away. An audible sigh of relief escaped parted lips.  
Peering cautiously through the grate, Hux observed a small storeroom below-- it was full of metal crates containing spare monitors, based on the labeling scrawled across them. Carefully and quietly, Hux threaded his fingers through the gaps and moved the grate to one side. He pushed himself through head first and half-tumbled down a tower of crates. The corner of one container jutted into his side, and he bit back a cry of pain. Just then, the door to the storage room hissed open. Hux panicked and slid down the other side of the box, out of sight. Armored footsteps paraded across the room, followed by idle chatter.

“Do you know who’s even in charge?” One trooper inquired in an exasperated way.

“Nobody knows anymore. Some say it’s Kylo Ren, others say he’s dead-- nobody has a solid answer.”

“Do _you_ think he’s dead?” 

There was a sound of rummaging through one of the shipment boxes.

“Nobody’s seen him for a long time. If you ask me, he’s either dead or he ran for cover.”

“Everything’s falling apart, SW-6092.”

Another few moments of rummaging followed that remark, and then the two troopers left without another word. Hux had been holding his breath through most of the exchange, and now let it out with a desperate gasp. So the First Order really _was_ losing, and what had become of Kylo Ren? It seemed almost too good to be true that the wretch had been killed, perhaps even more absurd that he’d fled, but these were things he would have to dwell on later. Hux had a medbay to raid.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux finishes his mission, and faces hard truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some heavy brainstorming and I have some ideas for where I want to go in the future. I feel bad not being able to give longer chapters but my writing stamina is fleeting lol. Enjoy!

Identical hallways wound and fed into each other in a sickeningly familiar way-- to Hux, navigating these man made mazes was second nature. _Instinct._ It had been born and beaten into him over many brutal years. Why, then, did he feel so uneasy? Logically, it was because he faced execution should he be caught, but there was something else to it-- the same ache that could be said of being in a once-beloved childhood home, now stripped of its contents.  
Slipping by a group of stormtroopers and finally weaseling his way into the supply storage room of the medbay brought no comfort. In his days as an acting officer in the First Order, the regime’s carefully cultivated crop of soldiers would have been alert and alive, ready to face down the galaxy at his beck and call. The ones at this base, however, looked as if they had hardly a drop of morale left inside their cold shells-- their postures were loose, all focus betrayed as if they had already given up.  
_The bastard didn’t exactly give me a list_ , Hux thought to himself as he shuffled through sterile stores of supplies, doing his best to keep his mind off the pathetic remains of the First Order for now. There was a meager store of bacta gel, which he greedily jammed into his pathetic tote bag as best he could. The familiar whirring of a medical droid caused Hux to freeze like a frightened loth cat, his heart thumping as he waited for a door to slide open, light to fill the room, and his body to feel the wrath of stun bolts… but the whirring passed.  
Peering over shelves as covertly as he could, he searched for anything else that would have been of use: there were nutritional pouches-- much less desirable than the bars or liquid supplements he was used to on duty, but he piled as many as he could on top of the bacta.

There was an eerie silence to the halls as Hux peered around a corner, his full pack pulling on his shoulder with the weight of its vital contents. _Critically understaffed_ , he gave a mental scoff, _not that there is anything useful on this planet to begin with._  
Hux felt adrenaline coursing through his veins as he prepared to make the final dash, closing the gap between himself and that precious passage to the outside world.

 _“Stop!”_ Panic shot through the former general like lightning, his body tightening as if the Supreme Leader himself was crushing him beneath one of those insidious, invisible fists. Turning, Hux caught sight of a lone trooper poised at the end of the hall, blaster in hand. She held her stance, but her arms shook ever so slightly. “No... you died.” Her voice was breathless and stricken by a sudden terror. “They _saw_ you die. You--”

 _Bam!_

She fell onto her back, residual heat rising from between the eyes of her helm. He had never drawn a blaster that suddenly in his life, and sweat still beaded over his pale, clammy skin. Maybe he should have stilled his hand. Maybe she would have had answers to his questions. 

But then again, maybe none of that mattered anymore.

With that, Hux scrambled back into the vent with his plunder, not daring to overstay his welcome for a moment longer.

***

The tote bag slammed down onto an upturned bench in the flickering firelight, a few nutritional pouches and bacta patches spilling out onto the dusty ground. Hux fell back against the wall of the venator for support, panting and wiping his brow. The macabre shape of Grievous squinted and knelt down to get a better look at the find, low growls rising over the strained sound of his breath. 

“Was this all you could manage?” That stern and sickly voice made the cyborg’s disappointment clear as day, even through the darkening of the evening atmosphere. 

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I do not have unlimited arms with which to haul back an entire store room’s worth of bacta.” Hux huffed-- were he in less physical pain from the ordeal, he may have concealed his feelings with more finesse. Every limb felt heavy with exhaustion as he struggled to reach over and ensnare one of the pouches, biting off the cap and drinking from it ravenously. 

“A somewhat productive first raid, at least. Do not count on it being your _last._ ” Skeletal fingers were already picking at some of the bacta and applying it gingerly to one of the grotesque, fleshy tubes that dangled from Grievous’s wirey neck. 

“We are losing the war.” Hux muttered, half to himself as he swallowed the last mouthful that the shriveled pouch had to offer. The empty casing clattered as he tossed it off to the side.

“ _We?_ ” Grievous wheezed, attention briefly drawn away from caring for what remained of his decrepit, stinking flesh. “They have no love for you, _General Hux_ , and yet you are still partial?” His title was hissed in a mocking voice, and the plates on either side of that wretched head pinned back like the ears of a crouching beast.

“I dedicated my life to the First Order, and I clawed myself to its highest peaks for its success. I cannot part with that so easily.” At that, Hux caught an unmistakable flash of bitterness in Grievous’s eyes.

“You speak as if I do not understand these hardships.” A cough disrupted the embers of the fire between the two outcasts. “There is not a cause in the galaxy that will ever value your sacrifice. Your First Order betrayed you, as my Confederacy did me.”  
Swift as speeders, three datachips were cast from Grievous’s tattered cloak and deposited onto the ground beside the fire. Without taking his wary gaze off the cyborg, Hux slowly reached for them.  
Inserting the chips into a working datapad he’d managed to uncover earlier near the upturned bench, Hux watched as the blue screen flickered with documents dated all the way back to the Clone Wars. There was a long silence as he looked through them.

“These are records from the Intergalactic Banking Clan.” Green eyes widened at what was recorded, and he looked up from the texts. “They… staged a shuttle crash and blamed it on the Republic to ensure your cooperation?”

“ _Indeed._ ” That word was dripping with hatred. “Neither of us were anything more than pawns in an endless game, and now we have nothing.”  
Every fiber of Hux ached and screamed to deny that, and yet he could not find the strength. He looked back down at the datapad in his quivering hands-- the background of a proud warlord to the plot that would chain him to the Confederacy of Independent Systems. He looked at the creature in front of him, disheveled and forsaken. He looked down at himself, a frail slip of paper.

He could do nothing but stew in Grievous’s words, and feel like nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux discovers Grievous's trophies, and both recall the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating for months ahahaha, I've had a really rough time and I think it's probably reflected in this chapter. I apologize in advance oof.

Life within the venator was dull and dreary-- Hux did all he could to keep track of the days and the time, but everything soon blended together. He’d kept himself busy by retrieving some of the dated tech from the vessel, disassembling and reassembling it like a puzzle. It felt good to indulge in a passion after many days of torrential uncertainty, and it brought back memories of how he’d spent his spare time at the academy as a weak and friendless child.  
To Hux’s surprise, the wretch Grievous made himself scarce. They hadn’t spoken since that daring mission to the First Order outpost for bacta, though Hux could occasionally hear what he assumed was the abominable creature shuffling in the cover of darkness. One thing he found strange, however, was the occasional coming and going of the magnaguards-- they were gone for days at a time, usually returning bearing some boon of junk. They walked right by Hux’s makeshift little camp without so much as a glance in his direction.

The screeching sound of metal on metal woke Hux early one morning. Jerking himself from the torn blankets he’d pillaged from deeper in the ship, the former general peered warily from his shelter and watched as a magnaguard pulled a large fragment of what looked to be the hull of a vessel across the clearing. _More junk_ , Hux curled his lip in disgust, but found that he could not take his eyes off the scene. One pale, freckled arm reached for a rag and wrapped it around himself-- temperatures in this hellscape dropped at night and during the early hours of the morning-- before quietly slipping on his boots. Hux crept softly from his shelter and trailed behind the droid, staying far enough behind not to draw its attention.  
The path they took was dim and dreary. Creatures watched from above, and the sound of dripping pipes echoed eerily about the corpse of this once magnificent structure. Hux had been exploring in the vessel a fair few times for supplies, but there was a primal anxiety about being in the lifeless, gutted halls that never left him. A star destroyer was supposed to be full of life and order-- they weren’t meant to be seen like this.  
After what seemed like hours, the magnaguard turned one final corner before hauling the fragment of metal onto the biggest pile of trash Hux had ever seen consolidated into one place. Beyond that corridor was what would have been a relatively large space, but it felt claustrophobic from the clutter piled up several arm lengths. For a moment too long, he all but forgot that he was meant to be unseen as the magnaguard disturbed a pile of rubble and caused it to shift dangerously.

“Watch out!” Hux shouted to the droid, and it turned just in time to dodge a landslide of oblong, metallic shapes that came tumbling down a pile. One of the items rolled until it hit the toe of Hux’s boot, and he bent to pick it up in one bony hand. “It… it’s a lightsaber.” He mumbled curiously, but dropped the hilt in fear as Grievous emerged atop his mountain of worn possessions.

“ _You_.” The cyborg hissed as he recognized Hux’s voice. “You are not welcome nor are you wanted in my affairs.”  
“Your… _affairs_? I would hardly call this an affair-- it’s a room full of _garbage_.” At this, a threatening growl gurgled in Grievous’s chest. Despite all the bacta Hux had been forced to acquire, it would seem that some things were beyond repair.

“It is not garbage, fool. I have spent a lifetime reclaiming the trophies that were lost to me after I was betrayed.” In one of those skeletal appendages, the creature held what looked to be a decorative mask of bone. “I send my magnaguards to retrieve what was mine, as any victor should.” _But you were betrayed before the Empire ascended!_ Hux wanted to snap back, but he swallowed those words. “Recently, I had them retrieve a part of the remains of my old flagship, _Invisible Hand_. I have not been reunited with it since the end of the Clone Wars.” The cyborg’s gravelly voice calmed somewhat as he reached out a hand and touched the shard of hull. A spark of joy-- however muted-- flashed in the cloudy depths of those reptilian, yellow eyes.

“I… I see.” Hux was silent for some time while Grievous shuffled through his hoard, selecting the rusted hilt of a lightsaber and holding it gingerly. The bitter taste of pity threatened Hux’s mind as he continued to take in the scene before him; General Armitage Hux normally did not pity disgusting creatures like this one, but he was sorely reminded that he was no longer General Armitage Hux at all. He was not unlike Grievous, scavenging and sulking-- longing for comforts he would never know again. 

“Every weapon I own once belonged to a Jedi-- a reminder that I bled them like worthless animals.” There was a bone-chilling thrill to Grievous’s voice as he shifted the lightsaber from hand to hand. To Hux’s surprise, he turned his head in the man’s general direction. “Do you have nothing you desire from your time among your faction?”

“Of course I do, but they are things long out of reach.” A sigh escaped parted lips. “I had a cat named Millicent I last saw in my quarters on the _Steadfast_ , but I… I suppose she’s still there, unless something foul became of the ship.” The reality of what he had just said gripped him for the first time since his escape. His heart sank deep into cold water. “I do not think we will see each other again.” 

“Condolences.” Hux’s grim companion uttered in a monotone way-- perhaps it was an honest attempt at sympathy, but he thought it more likely to be insincere. After a long moment of silence, Grievous continued to shuffle through the hoard, and Hux accepted this as his ticket to leave him be.

The remainder of the day was spent idling around camp and thinking on past and present alike (he had nothing else to do, after all). What _had_ become of the _Steadfast_ following that encounter with the detestable Enric Pryde? Hux scratched at his palms nervously with unkempt nails, sweat forming under his ragged shirt as all the possibilities flashed through his mind. _Perhaps it is docked somewhere safe. What if Millie is still in my quarters? I suppose Mitaka would’ve handled it… he knows how to care for her._ A nervous glance was spared to a datapad resting not far from him. He remembered all the codes to the First Order databases, the vessel’s status would be visible from the--

 _No!_ Pale fingers ran through messy, orange hair as another part of him whispered poison into his ear. _And what if something happened to Mitaka? She would be alone there, no one to care for her, no one to fill up her food or water… and what if the ship was destroyed? What if it burned in the atmosphere, or exploded into bits?_

Hux sat there, gazing at the datapad, his mind a stream of “what if’s”. A shaky hand extended forward and took hold of the tech with sweating fingers. His palms were bleeding from the subconscious scratching, but he ignored the throbbing pain and went to access the First Order databases as he normally would have. Remarkably, he was able to connect to them. Slowly, he typed in his passcode. 

_[Vessel log._

_Resurgent-class destroyers._

Steadfast: _destroyed.]_

Hux threw the datapad across the clearing and watched it shatter into a million pieces.


End file.
